Not The Only One
by Chamelaucium
Summary: Bilbo always assumed he was the only hobbit ever to have an "Adventure", but a surprise discovery proves him wrong. "It is Winterfilth of the Year 317 by Shire Reckoning. I am putting my story onto paper, so that it will never be truly forgotten. My name is Laurel Brownlock, and I have returned from the most extraordinary journey…" *on hiatus for now*
1. Prologue

**_Not The Only One_**

**Prologue: Discovery  
**

_Brandy Hall, Buckland, the Shire, S.R. 1387_

The sun sparkled down on the waters of the Brandywine, dancing like light on shattered glass. The sound of the running water would have been peaceful and soothing, accompanied by the gentle chirping of the birds in the trees – if not for the excited screams and laughter of hobbit children frolicking in the river.

A young hobbit with light brown curls plastered to his forehead was surfacing from the water, spraying water onto another young hobbit, older than the other and with darker curls, almost black now they were wet.

'Merry!' the dark-haired hobbit laughed as the water droplets rained down upon him.

'What, Frodo?' Merry asked innocently, the sly grin giving the game away.

'You did that on purpose,' Frodo admonished him, but his lips were quirked up into a smile and he chuckled.

It was summer and the air was warm; the cooler waters were a relief – to those hobbits that could swim. Not everyone at Brandy Hall could, despite living close to the river; indeed, many hobbits were surprised at Frodo Baggins' choice to learn to swim, considering the unfortunate event that had occurred seven years before…

But such dire subjects were far from the young hobbit's thoughts as he played with his younger cousin, splashing each other and racing and diving. After a particularly vigorous race, which Frodo had only just won, he rested for a while on the far bank of the river and caught his breath again. Merry showed off by diving under the water and holding his breath, only to resurface next to Frodo and splash him with water again.

As Frodo pulled himself up closer to the bank, still catching his breath, his elbow caught on something and made a hollow, knocking noise. Intrigued, Frodo turned and looked for the source of the sound, but he could only see rushes and mud. He felt around, and then he heard a little tapping as his fingers passed over a patch of river silt.

Calling Merry closer, he began to clear away the sludge and Merry helped. It didn't take long before they found what was hidden beneath.

There was a decorative casket, of thick, good quality wood. Frodo pulled himself out of the water and sat on the bank, and Merry did the same, watching in fascination as Frodo examined the casket. When Frodo tried to prise it open, it wouldn't budge; it was tightly locked and sealed. Intrigued, the two hobbits looked at each other.

'Well, I for one know someone who would enjoy very much looking at this,' Frodo said, a grin on his face. Merry looked confused.

'Bilbo! When he arrives later, I know he'll love to see it. He's rather fond of puzzles.'

Merry gave a sigh – Bilbo liked testing him with riddles, which all too often Merry had no clue how to go about solving. Bilbo said they might come in handy, one day; somehow Merry doubted he'd ever be in a position where _riddles _would be so useful – except perhaps to show off with.

The two scrambled up and back to the house, grabbing their towels and clothes, ready to wait for the hobbit that could help them solve this little puzzle.

The wait seemed interminable to Merry, but Frodo seemed perfectly content as they sat outside watching the road, waiting for the wagon with Bilbo in it to arrive. Finally it came into view and as soon pulling up in the courtyard, much to Merry's relief. When Bilbo had finished with the greetings and the niceties with the rest of the family, the two approached the old hobbit, Frodo holding out the box.

'Bilbo, we were wondering if you could help us…' Frodo proffered the casket, and a sudden gleam appeared in Bilbo's eye.

'Help you? What's this?' he took the casket and eyed it, examining it closely. 'Alright. To the kitchen!'

The three of them made their way to the kitchen, Merry running and Frodo only just managing to restrain himself out of respect for the older hobbit. When they got there Bilbo reached for a long, sharp knife, and slipped it through the gap between the lid and the body of the box. It was difficult, but eventually he got it through. Carefully he began sliding it across, breaking the gummy seal inside and loosening it. Eventually he had gone the whole way around and set the knife down. The twinkle was in his eye again.

'Are you ready?' he looked at the younger hobbits, who nodded eagerly. Bilbo opened the lid; it was stiff at first but he managed to coax it open fully. The younger hobbits peered inside – and were sorely disappointed. They had been hoping for jewels and money and gold… what they found was a booklet of bound parchment, slightly damp but still legible due to the seal, along with a small black book. The book was so old that the pages had crumbled at the edges and the ink was so faded the text couldn't be seen, except for in a couple of places where a word could be made out. Merry visually drooped at this anticlimactic discovery.

Bilbo gave a little hum of delight, and picked up the sheaf of parchment and handed it to Frodo, who began trying to read it while Bilbo picked the casket up and studied it further.

Frodo was interrupted by a little 'Aha!' and looked up. His uncle was staring down in obvious satisfaction. Frodo and Merry looked back inside the casket, and were greeted by the sight of many precious stones and metals and jewellery, glinting up at them. Merry gasped audibly.

'How…?' Frodo began, but stopped when he saw what Bilbo was holding in his other hand – a thin strip of wood wide enough to fit into the box and hide things underneath: a false bottom. Bilbo gave a little laugh.

'The bottom still sounded hollow, and there was extra space unaccounted for,' he chuckled.

While Frodo and Merry gazed at the array of jewels before them, Bilbo took back the parchments and the book. Starting with the papers, he began to read.

Suddenly he shut the casket. Merry and Frodo looked at him, surprised, and he suggested they go to the library. In the quiet of Saradoc Brandybuck's library, Bilbo began to read aloud the fascinating documents contained within.

_It is Winterfilth of the Year 317 by Shire Reckoning. I am putting my story onto paper, so that it will never be truly forgotten. My name is Laurel Brownlock, and I have returned from the most extraordinary journey…_

* * *

**A/N: I really hope you liked this little prologue! More will be here soon :)**

**I haven't really done longer stories with my own real plot lines for fanfic before, so I hope it all goes well! :D Please do review and let me know how I'm doing and whether you're enjoying it!**


	2. Dreams are Awoken

**Chapter 1: Dreams are Awoken**

_Stock, The Shire, S.R. 317_

'Laurel Brownlock, get ready this instant! We are leaving in ten minutes and if you're not absolutely ready we're leaving without you!' Mrs Dahlia Brownlock's voice rang through the large smial as she chastised her eldest daughter. The wagon taking them to their aunt and uncle's house in Rushey would be there soon, and Laurel was still only in her underclothes.

'Poppy, please help Laurel get ready. You know how important it is she looks her best…'

With a pointed glance at her middle daughter, who immediately went to help her sister dress, Dahlia was outside checking that all the bags were packed and ready to be loaded onto the cart when it arrived.

Laurel sat on the edge of her bed, staring moodily at the dresses before her. She looked up when Poppy walked in, and then resumed her silent glare. She didn't want to visit her aunt and uncle, who were as boring as dry toast, and she knew who else would be there. Her parents wanted her to look her best so that she would catch the eye of Wilcome Potts, the son of the wealthiest family in the area and a definite catch for a young lady. And he wasn't bad looking, she grudgingly conceded, but from what she could tell of him from the various times she'd met him at her aunt and uncle's, he was pompous and arrogant – everything Laurel hated.

'Laurel, you know Mama won't really leave you behind. She'd make you come along even if you _were_ half-dressed,' Poppy's voice cut in to Laurel's musings.

Laurel sighed. Of course she knew that. She'd spent thirty-two years of life with her mother; if anyone was to know what her mother was like, it was her. She'd been on the receiving end of her mother's temper enough times!

'I know, Poppy. I still don't want to go, though.'

With a sigh Poppy sat down next to her sister. 'Just get ready, Laurel, and I promise I will do everything I can to make sure you don't have to talk to _him_ any more than you have to.'

'You'd do that for me, Pops?' Laurel asked. When her sister nodded, Laurel threw her arms round her. 'I'll make it up to you somehow,' she said.

'But only if you get dressed!' Poppy ducked out of her sister's embrace and chose a dress at random, and threw it to her sister. With a mock sigh, Laurel put it on, while Poppy brushed her hair for her and tied a pretty coral ribbon which matched the dress into Laurel's dark chestnut curls.

Soon enough the two of them walked outside to join their mother and father and youngest sister Aspen who were waiting by the wagon, which had now arrived to take them to Rushey. Dahlia looked her eldest daughter over appraisingly and chivvied everyone into the wagon. Soon enough the Brownlocks were on their way, the wagon rolling and jolting on the uneven road south.

* * *

Laurel sat in the back seat of the wagon, staring out listlessly at the land they travelled through. They crossed the Stockbrook not long after beginning their journey and the bright sun overhead sparkled on the swiftly flowing water like so many gems. When she was younger Laurel had loved it when her family would bring a picnic to the banks of the little river and she would be allowed to paddle; but now she was nearly of age her mother had deemed it 'unsuitable' and 'improper' for her to be splashing around in the cool waters.

Aspen, the youngest of the three, had just turned twenty-one and was still as excitable as she had been when she was eighteen. She kept up a steady stream of chatter which Laurel barely listened to, except when Aspen addressed her directly.

As the day wore on, the heat of the sun made Laurel sleepy. Her eyes grew heavy and she must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew she was being woken up by her parents, as they had arrived at the little inn which marked the halfway point on their journey. They had snacked on the way, but now it was lunch time and Laurel was ravenous. She eagerly followed her family into the cheery inn, where they feasted on soft white bread, creamy cheese and cold meats, with sweet lemonade for herself and her sisters.

After eating Laurel felt very much refreshed, and as they started their journey again she almost felt cheerful. This feeling was short-lived, however, as her mother began lecturing her on how best to behave when in the company of Wilcome.

'Remember Laurel, modesty is essential; no one likes an out-spoken girl. Be modest and demure, but remember your honour! And make sure you don't forget to let him know about your many accomplishments, dear…'

And on and on and on, as the sun sank lower and lower into the sky, turning the horizon into a haze of fiery orange. She listened with half an ear, as her mother had said everything to her before on the numerous previous visits to her aunt and uncle's. It was with relief that she sat up when Aspen cried out that she could see Rushey; Dahlia was distracted and ceased her lecture, her attention turning to straightening her frock and smoothing her hair as they pulled up outside the large smial belonging to her sister and brother-in-law.

The bright yellow door was yanked open and Flora Greenhand was on the front doorstep.

'Dahlia, my dear!' she called, and rushed down the path to embrace her sister, kissing her warmly on the cheek. She turned to Laurel and her sisters, who were getting out of the cart.

'My dears, how lovely it is to see you all! My, how you've grown,' she exclaimed, and drew them each in for a hug as well. Finally they were all ushered inside, where their uncle Filibert was waiting by the tea table, which was spread with a tantalising display of delicious food. Soon after they had finished it grew dark, and while their mother hurried Aspen to bed, Laurel and Poppy stood outside in the back garden, watching as the sun finally sank over the far green hills.

Soon Poppy too was yawning and the two of them went and got ready for bed, after saying goodnight to their parents and aunt and uncle. They had to share with Aspen, who being the youngest got her own bed while the other two shared the large, richly quilted double bed. They crawled under the thick quilts and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Laurel knew Poppy was still awake, as her breathing hadn't settled into the rhythmic and even pattern of sleep.

Turning to her sister, Poppy whispered into the darkness.

'Are you happy, Laurel? And I don't just mean about tomorrow.'

Laurel turned, and she could see the glint of her sister's eyes as they reflected the light that crept in under the doorframe.

'Yes, I suppose so. Why wouldn't I be?'

Poppy rolled back over so that she was looking at the ceiling again.

'No reason. I just feel like… I don't know, Laurel. I can't explain it.'

'Don't worry about it, Pops. I'm happy. You're probably just tired… I certainly am. Let's sleep…' Laurel breathed, curling in on herself as she settled to sleep. Poppy followed suit, and by the next morning remembered nothing of her earlier unsettlement.

But Poppy's words rang in Laurel's mind, and she couldn't shake the bad feeling that hovered over her now. She knew she was being irrational and silly, but as she listened to her sisters' soft sleepy breathing, Laurel suddenly felt hot and bothered, and decided to go and get a glass of milk from the kitchen. She had heard the adults going to bed a little earlier so she wouldn't be caught.

Softly she padded along the silent corridors of the large smial. She had visited her aunt and uncle so many times she knew the way even without a guiding light to help her. But suddenly she stopped short.

There was a light on in Uncle Filibert's study. She had heard him and her aunt go to bed; why was there a lamp on in his study? Forgetting all about previous thoughts of a glass of milk, Laurel gently peered through the gap between the door frame and the door, which had not been closed properly.

As she leant closer she could hear the sound of breathing and papers being shuffled. Intrigued, Laurel pushed the door open and stood in the doorway. Her uncle was leaning over the desk, which was itself covered in papers and books lying open. He was busy poring over the documents, studying them closely. Now more intrigued, Laurel stepped inside the study and crossed over to join her uncle.

He started slightly at her sudden appearance but when he saw her he smiled.

'Can't sleep, eh?' he asked, and Laurel shook her head. She motioned to the papers strewn over the desk.

'What are these?'

'It's my family papers. Look, here's our family tree,' he said, pulling one sheet of paper covered in tiny printed handwriting and lots of names out from behind a very boring looking document.

She looked at it for a while, tracing the names she knew. Then she saw a map lying on the table. She knew the land it showed.

Placing the family tree back down she picked up the map. Her eyes wandered the familiar contours of the Shire, following the Brandywine and traversing along the East Road, to places she'd never been but seemed so familiar to her, having seen maps so often at home. Any self-respecting hobbit had a map of the Shire in their smial.

Her uncle's eyes sparkled at her interest.

'You're fond of maps, Laurel? Tell me, have you seen a map of this fair world of Middle-earth? Do you know where the Shire is in relation to other places?'

Laurel shook her head. In that respect, she was hideously ignorant.

With a grin, her uncle opened a desk draw and pulled out an old map, the paper brown and mottled and the ink fading, but to Laurel it was beautiful. She stared in wonder at the mountain ranges, the forests, the cities she never even knew existed. There was the sea, and their own little Brandywine flowing into it!

Her finger traced the new names, names she had never heard of but seemed so beautiful in their strangeness.

_Rivendell, Greenwood, Erebor, Anduin, Osgiliath…_

Laurel felt something within her stir as she looked upon her world, about which she knew nothing. Moments ago she had been lamenting the fact that she had never been further west than Whitfurrows; now here was a whole world which she had never heard of, let alone seen…

Laurel wanted to see it. She wanted to see further than the borders of the Shire, perhaps follow the path of the Brandywine on its path to the sea. She laughed softly. She knew her hopes were futile; she would never get a chance to see outside of the Shire. Her life was here, not out there.

'Have you ever been, uncle Fil? Have you ever seen outside of the Shire?' she asked, looking up at him.

'Me? Oh no. I've been to the eastern border but never crossed it. I like my creature comforts too much, my dear! It wouldn't do if there wasn't any food, or ale, or comfy beds, now, would it?' he laughed.

Laurel looked back down at the map, and gently handed it back to her uncle. She slipped back to bed and covered herself with the quilt once more, pressing her cold feet up to Poppy's warm legs.

Even though Laurel knew she would never see outside the borders of the Shire, even as she fell asleep she felt restless; a part of her now would not rest easy until she satisfied the curiosity that began to gnaw at her, eager to see more than just her home. As her dreams were full of browning paper and strange names, her heart was filled with longing.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Please review :)**


	3. Mottled Pages

**Chapter 2: Mottled Pages**

_Rushey, The Shire_

From the moment Laurel was up the next morning, her mother was fussing and fiddling over Laurel and her clothes, her hair, her face… Laurel grew irritable as her mother smoothed her curls for the fifth time in half an hour, and patted the soft green fabric of her dress, chosen by Poppy to complement the red undertones in Laurel's chestnut hair.

Wilcome and his mother and father were expected for elevenses and were to stay until dinner. It was going to be an interminably long day, Laurel sighed. She was dreading it – countless hours of Wilcome boasting and talking without a break while Laurel feigned interest in this self-centred boy.

Soon the Potts were at the door, at all at once Laurel was ushered in front of Wilcome with a hiss from her mother not to leave his side. As expected, once they were settled, the conversation became increasingly one-sided after they got past the niceties. To Laurel's immense relief, Poppy stayed true to her word and stayed close by the two, occasionally interjecting when Wilcome paused for breath. Every time he addressed Poppy (which he seemed to do more than he addressed Laurel), Laurel would utter a sigh of utter relief and allow her features to relax into a scowl, before correcting them back into a demure smile and laughing prettily at the mundane flow of words that streamed from his mouth.

Often it was hard for Laurel not to scream with frustration, so boring was the conversation and irritating the speaker. He had a habit of cracking his knuckles, which Laurel found immensely annoying. The only time Laurel had brief respite was at elevenses and lunch, when Wilcome was solely focussed on the food and completely ignored her.

And to think her parents wanted her to marry this hobbit! He needed a _mother_, not a _wife_; he still lived at home and his mother doted on him. Laurel couldn't stand the thought of matrimony with him. As soon she came of age she would find someone of her own choosing; even if she incurred her mother's wrath it would be better than facing the rest of her life as Mrs Laurel Potts.

During lunch Laurel stood up and excused herself, saying she had to use the bathroom. She hurried out of the dining room, leaving the murmurs of her parents and relatives to the Potts and the sound of Wilcome munching far behind her. She didn't need the privy, but the atmosphere in there was so heavy and unpleasant that Laurel couldn't stand it a moment longer. She just had to get out, and fast.

She walked along the spacious corridors of her aunt and uncle's smial, and paused as she neared the back door to the gardens. She leant back against the wall for a while, breathing deeply. The servants had opened up the back door and the breeze blew softly through the round opening, playing softly over her face. This wind was much more preferable to the hot air that perpetually vented from Wilcome's mouth. She snorted in disgust – her mother would have been shocked at such an unladylike noise.

She stood back up and turned to go back, realising that she couldn't stay away for too long before her parents suspected something. But as she walked her feet took her past a door left slightly ajar – her uncle's study, just like last night. Remembering the maps she had seen, she instantly went inside to see if she could find them again. The feel of the old, thick parchment beneath her fingers and the musty smell of dusty tomes would soothe her.

But the maps were nowhere to be seen. Not on the desk or on one of the bookshelves, or even framed on the wall. She felt the weight of disappointment sink in her stomach. Her aunt Flora, she supposed – he'd have to hide them from her. Being her mother's sister, Laurel supposed the two of them would have very similar sensibilities and disapprove of anything remotely un-hobbitlike.

She sighed and sank down on her uncle's soft cushioned arm chair, and looked around the study properly. It had been too dark to see it completely yesterday, the corners thrown into shadow by the guttering candles. The room was literally filled with books – the walls were hidden by bookshelves, except for a space by the window on the far wall. There was a soft cushioned window-seat… upon which there sat a lone book; black leather covers frayed with age and the paper incredibly thin. Instantly Laurel had crossed the room, scooping it up to have a closer look.

On the front cover, embossed in gold text, was the title: _Tales from the Realms of Middle-earth._

Inside, on the first mottled page, a subtitle proclaimed that within this volume was contained stories and songs from the various parts of Middle-earth – tales of the daring battles of Men, the love of nature of the elves, the legendary smithy skills of the dwarves… Laurel's heart rate picked up; her uncle must have left this here for her on purpose, sensing how much she wanted to know more about the world. Her delight only increased when she saw, at the back of the book, a scaled down version of the map she had seen last night. The names were tiny, almost illegible, but it was still breath-taking.

She really didn't want to re-join the party now. Wilcome was pretty much ignoring her, and she didn't want to encourage him anyway. Her mother wouldn't be best pleased, but Laurel would accept whatever form of punishment she received. One thing was certain – she was _not_ going back into that dining room.

Stealing silently out of the study, Laurel considered where her best bet of a secret hiding place was. Somewhere not even would go often… the linen cupboard. Laurel had hidden in there plenty of times when playing hide-and-seek with her sisters when they were younger and it wouldn't be too detrimental to her dress – which might just allay some of her mother's anger when Laurel didn't return to the party. Hopefully.

She sneaked around to the linen cupboard, hoping a servant wouldn't come that way just at that moment. Thankfully she was lucky, and reached the small, warm room without any mishaps, the book clutched tightly under her arm. She went in and shut the door, and settled herself against it. She used a couple of bedsheets to make a cushion – she'd fold them back up afterwards and no one need know exactly where she had hidden – and opened the book reverently.

The first chapter was entitled: _"Of the Lands to the East of the Misty Mountains"_. Laurel quickly flicked to the map at the back, and ascertained that the mountain range was that that formed the spine of the world, a curved belt of mountains cutting the land in half. Laurel admired the geography of such a landform, and she wished she could see what they _really _looked like.

She began to read. She learned of the elves of Greenwood the Great, that forest stretching down; of the dwarves of Erebor, the mountain that stood proud and tall on its own; of the Men who inhabited towns next to lakes and rivers. She learned tales that the elves and the dwarves and the Men told their young ones as bedtime stories – to Laurel's mind infinitely better than those her own papa had told her as a young hobbit lass. She would have to read them to Aspen and Poppy, one day…

Laurel was almost breathless when she finished the chapter. She had read quite a long way into the book, but had no idea of the time so couldn't ascertain whether her progress was fast or slow. She didn't hear any shouting from downstairs – yet – but she hastily turned the page and continued.

"_Of the Settlements along the Misty Mountains"…_

"_Of the Realm of Rohan and the Horse-Lords"…_

"_Of the southern Realm of Gondor and its lands"…_

"_Of the Sea"…_

Laurel shut the book softly, and blew out a breath. Her mind was racing – so much new information, so many new stories… she felt a little sick. A combination of too much rich food earlier and the frustration that she would only ever see these places in her mind made her stomach feel uncomfortable and heavy. She knew so much, but had even more questions. Minas Tirith was a city of white stone, built on the mountain side – but how did that work? What did it look like? The elves of Lothlórien lived on platforms in the branches in woods full of golden trees – but what did they _look_ like? There was so much she wanted to know more of, but never would. She heaved a sigh of frustration as she stared at the leather cover.

The last chapter was her favourite. She had always wanted to see the sea, whenever she had heard it mentioned, and now that desire was stronger than ever.

She got up stiffly – how long had she been sitting for? – and folded away the bedsheets. They were a little crumpled, but who would know once they'd been fitted on the bed? Quietly she made her way through the winding corridors to her own room. The sky outside was the blue of dusk, with the clouds turning grey as the sun disappeared. She slumped onto the bed, lying staring up at the ceiling, when she started suddenly. There at the door stood her mother, looking furious.

The obedient part of Laurel quailed slightly at the sight, but the new, adventurous part of her strengthened her resolve and stared straight back at her.

Dahlia moved into the room, her arms folded and a steely glint in her eye.

'Wilcome and his parents have gone,' she said simply, staring at her daughter, watching for a reaction.

'Good,' Laurel shrugged.

'Good? _Good_?' Dahlia hissed. 'Laurel Brownlock, at this rate you have just insulted the only lad in the Shire who might be willing to take you as a wife! You are disobedient, wilful and rude; no man would willingly take you on, except for the very one who has just left!'

Laurel's eyes stung as her mother's comments hit home, but she jutted her chin out and refused to be cowed.

'If he was the only one, mother, I'd rather not marry!' she retorted, and her voice was stronger than she felt.

Her mother laughed derisively.

'Of _course;_ and be considered faulty, or not quite all there! You don't know what's good for you, Laurel; until you have learned how to behave, you are in disgrace. I thought I had raised you better, Laurel.'

So saying, she turned on her heel and slammed the door shut on Laurel's aghast face. Laurel sat stiffly upright on the bed, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. Soon her breathing slowed, but as she changed into her night things Laurel couldn't help herself from crying softly as she replayed her mother's speech over and over in her mind.

Was Wilcome really the only man in the Shire who'd have her as his wife?

She knew that it was proper and decorous for women to marry, and it was exceedingly rare for them not to. Would she really be considered… _mad_, if she didn't marry?

Laurel curled up under the blankets, the tears flowing freely. After a while it wasn't because of the sharp tongue of her mother, but more for wounded pride and knocked self-esteem. She heard the door open and instantly stopped the tears, for fear it was her mother again, but when a warm body appeared next to her and wrapped her arms around her, Laurel turned and wept against Poppy, who soothed her gently until she fell asleep, the little black book safe under Laurel's pillow.


	4. Mist on the Downs

**Mist on the Downs**

Stony silence surrounded the table as the Brownlocks and the Greenhands ate breakfast the next morning. Dahlia's face was murderous and she resolutely ignored her eldest daughter, while Filibert and Flora and Laurel's father Doderic all avoided meeting either Dahlia or Laurel's gaze.

Laurel was thoroughly miserable and sat staring down at her plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. She loved scrambled eggs, and this batch was perfectly cooked, but it tasted like mulch in her mouth as she chewed, and it was all she could do to swallow it. Aspen sat, her glance flickering from one hobbit to the next; she hadn't been told what had happened or why her sister and mother were ignoring each other, but the meal was decidedly more interesting than usual.

So the meal passed with hardly a word being spoken, except Filibert asking Doderic to pass the salt, or Flora requesting the butter. At the end of breakfast, Dahlia spoke up. Her voice was sharp and her expression brooked no argument.

'Girls, go and pack. We're leaving in an hour.'

Obediently the three got up and headed for their bedroom. While Laurel and Poppy began folding dresses and collecting up hair ribbons, Aspen jumped onto the big bed and bounced a bit.

'Laurel, why _is_ Mama so upset with you?'

Laurel gave a shrug. 'Why do you think, Aspen?'

It was Aspen's turn to shrug. 'Is it because you didn't come back after lunch? Because I wouldn't have either. That Wilcome boy is _really_ boring, Laurel.'

Poppy laughed, and Laurel had to suppress a smile at her young sister. If their mother could hear! She knew her mother only wanted good marriages for the three of them but she would never have thought she would be so angry. Laurel didn't regret it though – she was in disgrace, but at least she still had the book.

When their clothes and belongings were packed, Laurel slipped the book out from underneath her pillow, carefully so that her sisters wouldn't see, and tucked it into her bag. She would share it with them at some point, but perhaps when matters had settled down a bit. Laurel turned and seeing Aspen still lounging on the bed, pushed her sister gently.

'Aspen!' she laughed. 'You need to pack!'

Poppy and Laurel helped their wayward sister pack up all her clothes and they made their way to the door and set the bags down. Laurel stood leaning against the wall, drinking in the smells of the garden – the sweet nectar of the flowers, the subtle tones of the leaves, the freshly turned earth… she opened her eyes when someone appeared next to her: her uncle Filibert. He was grinning and had a little twinkle in his eye.

'Are you alright, Laurel?' he asked.

She smiled. 'I'm fine, Uncle Fil. I don't suppose Mother will let me out of the smial for the next year but apart from that, I'm alright.'

He chuckled softly.

'I take it you found the book, then?'

'What book?' Aspen's voice cut in, and she was looking at them interestedly.

'I left a little surprise out for your sister yesterday-' he lowered his voice conspiratorially '- to help her escape from that irritating brat Wilcome!'

Aspen looked delighted at this little turn of events.

'So it's _your_ fault, Uncle! And there we were thinking you were doddery and boring…'

Filibert looked affronted. 'Me? Boring?'

Aspen laughed and hugged Filibert, who chuckled along with her.

But a question had been nagging at Laurel ever since she had seen the maps in her uncle's study.

'But Uncle… you say you've never been out of the Shire, so why do you have all these things? The maps and the book and everything?' she asked.

Her uncle smiled. 'Just because I've never been out of the Shire doesn't mean no one comes _into_ the Shire. I've frequented a good many taverns in my time, Laurel! I believe it was a fairly out of the way little wayside inn in Willowbottom I got that map, although I can't be sure. Maybe it was Deephallow…'

Laurel smiled at her uncle, and was just about to berate him for drinking so much he couldn't remember when Dahlia and Doderic came out of the smial, Flora following close behind. Dahlia still looked foreboding and after one look at her face, Filibert said goodbye to his nieces speedily before chivvying them all into the wagon to await their parents. When they had all said their farewells, the wagon began to move and Laurel waved to her aunt and uncle until they could no longer be seen. Turning, she let out a small sigh, but not loud enough for her mother to hear. This journey was going to be torture.

Thankfully for Laurel her mother decided to rest, and sat with her head resting back and her eyes closed. Even her father looked immensely relieved at this, and Laurel felt a smile quirk her lips as she saw her father sag a little as he breathed out a sigh.

He smiled a little at Laurel, and soon enough he too fell asleep, allowing the warmth of the sun to gently caress his face.

Laurel sat string out at the countryside as they drove past, but with a new found respect. While previously she had thought it boring, now she yearned to be able to run wild in the meadows, to climb the great trees of the forest, to follow the Brandywine river to the sea…

And so the journey passed in much the same way as before, the horse plodding steadily along and Laurel stifling a curse each time the wagon jolted on a pothole on the road.

* * *

They finally approached home, and it was with gladness that Laurel saw Stock grow larger as they neared. As soon as they entered the smial, Laurel headed straight for her bedroom, ready to fall asleep straight away. The journey had been trying, to say the least, with her mother's disapproval emanating from her even when Laurel was doing nothing other than stare out at the surroundings.

She fell asleep instantly, and it was late when she awoke the next day. She headed to the dining room to get some breakfast, and her mother was waiting for her. Dahlia regarded Laurel closely as she ate, and when she was finished Dahlia spoke up.

'Laurel, you are in trouble and as a consequence of your behaviour, your punishment is this: you are not to go anywhere unless necessary and then only if you are escorted by me. With your freedom curbed, perhaps you won't so easily run off.'

Laurel nodded meekly; she didn't want to incur the further wrath of her mother and risk a harsher punishment. Admittedly it was a shame, as it was late autumn and she would have liked to go and pick the last of the summer apples with her sisters and help with the hay-rolling, but her thoughts wandered to the book, safely tucked into her bag. It wouldn't be so hard to endure this punishment, not with such a treasure as that book to keep her occupied. She could read that book a thousand times over and not grow bored.

But of course she kept her face perfectly still and did not let her mother know that in fact she didn't really mind the rules her mother had set out, and Dahlia was satisfied enough with Laurel's apparent humility that she allowed her to go while she herself went to inspect the state of the kitchen.

Laurel hurried to her room and unpacked her bag, taking especial care with folding and hanging her dresses, until she reached in and pulled out the little book. She smiled as she stared down at it, feeling the weight of the words contained within the pages. But she didn't read it; instead she was determined to make a good impression on her mother so that she might perhaps shorten the length of Laurel's enforced restrictions.

She walked to the kitchen, pulling on an apron from the cupboard as she did so. Dahlia looked surprised at her entrance.

'Mother, I'd like to help you – if that's alright,' Laurel said, and her mother looked at her appraisingly.

'I was planning on making some cakes to thank Mrs Goodapple for minding the smial while we were gone. You can help me.'

Eagerly Laurel accepted her mother's invitation and fetched the recipe book. It was a file full of recipes handed down to the women of Dahlia's family through generations; many of the papers were significantly browned and curling and the ink was faded, and a number of them were covered in splodges where the baker had not been careful and had splashed the instructions with apple sauce or other condiments.

Dahlia appreciated Laurel's help, and soon softened towards her daughter; shedding the hard outer demeanour she had worn since Laurel's escapade. She didn't scold Laurel for spilling the sugar or getting egg shells in the mixture, and Laurel was thankful. She enjoyed herself, and vowed to herself that if helping her mother of her own free will made her this nice, Laurel would do it every day – rather than having to be nagged at, which was all too often the case with Laurel.

Two weeks passed and Laurel helped her mother in the kitchen and in the other household chores, such as hanging laundry out and dusting rugs, and every night she would read from the book, memorising the map until she could trace the mountain ranges and territories of Middle-earth almost as well as she could those of the Shire.

One evening at supper, which Laurel had made with only a little assistance from her mother, her father sat deep in thought, and he didn't hear when Dahlia called his name.

'Doderic? _Doderic_!' the harsh note was creeping back into Dahlia's voice.

Her father looked up, and asked Dahlia to repeat herself. When Dahlia huffed slightly, Doderic explained himself. He pulled a letter out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it Dahlia, who scanned it.

'As a landowner I have to go and pay this quarter's rents to the Mayor. It's been five years since the last time we all had to go in person so that means it's time again to do so.'

Dahlia nodded and handed him back the letter.

Laurel's mind was buzzing.

_The Mayor… Michel Delving… that was in the very West of the Shire… where she had never been…_

'Father, can – please may I accompany you?'

She held her breath in the silence. Her mother shot her a sharp look, and Doderic glanced at Dahlia.

'I see no reason why not…' he said uncertainly.

Dahlia remained silent, but the thin line of her lips that meant 'no' was not present on her mother's face, and she allowed herself to hope…

'You have been good, Laurel. I… I hope you have learnt your lesson.' She turned to Doderic. 'Yes, Laurel may accompany you to Michel Delving.'

Laurel allowed a small smile to flash across her face, before she quickly schooled it back. It wouldn't do to let her mother see quite how happy this made Laurel, or else she'd think Laurel was up to something.

She caught Poppy's eye, and Poppy sent her a wistful smile.

'Mother… could Poppy come too? She is not too young, and I'm sure Father would appreciate the company…' Laurel trailed off. Had she gone too far? She hoped she hadn't pushed her luck with this request, but Poppy had sat up straighter and glanced hopefully at her parents.

Dahlia was evidently in a good mood, as she smiled. 'Of course, Poppy, you may go too.'

Poppy smiled and thanked her mother profusely, jumping up to peck her on the cheek quickly. Of course this provoked much jealousy from Aspen, who promptly turned sullen and bemoaned the fact that she had been born last.

But Laurel was too happy to take much notice of her youngest sister's mutterings; she was going to Michel Delving, and would finally see more of the Shire! It was the closest she would ever get to going on an adventure like people on the stories, and she would make the most of it.

* * *

They left the week after. Laurel had been accosted by Poppy after the dinner, and the two sisters danced around in silent excitement at the thought of the journey they would make.

'Thank you, Laurel,_ thank you_!' Poppy breathed, quietly so as not to provoke further irritation from Aspen.

'It wouldn't be so fun without you,' Laurel replied, and that was the truth; without Poppy the journey would not be quite as exciting as it would be together.

Finally the day of the departure dawned, and Laurel was woken up early. She had packed the night before, making sure her book was tucked safely into her bag, and she had merely to wash her face and teeth and dress before she was ready to leave. Her mother and Aspen had also got up to say goodbye, and Laurel hugged her sister tightly.

'I'll bring you back something, yes?' she said, and Aspen nodded.

She climbed onto the wagon and Poppy sat down next to her. Doderic had taken the reins and they set off, waving goodbye to the Dahlia and Aspen, who was staring after her sisters in wistfulness.

Laurel saw much to marvel at. They travelled through villages and past forests and along streams and rivers, and to Laurel it was all new and exciting.

They stopped for the night in Whitfurrows, at an inn, and Doderic laughed at the giddy excitement of his daughters at leaving Stock and seeing more of the Shire than their little town.

They followed the East Road, stopping at various towns to stay the night when it grew dark and to rest the horses. Laurel couldn't have enjoyed herself more, and she and Poppy spent a good many hours playing I-Spy and other games they hadn't played since they were young.

One day they were growing near to Michel Delving, and the road had begun to turn south. The air felt stiller here, and Laurel looked around in wonderment at this new part of the Shire. It was different – more different; if Laurel was honest, Bywater could have been Stock and the forests were technically all the same, but this area was unlike anything. She had seen it on maps, but to really _see_ it…

'The White Downs,' her father murmured.

The ground was a sea of rolling little hillocks, grassy and green; the waves rolling as far as the eye could see. Laurel stared out at the endless tussocks, breathless with wonder, and Poppy beside her was the same. Their father smiled.

'We need to rest the horse, so we may as well stop here for lunch.'

Laurel and Poppy immediately agreed, and while the pony chewed on the grass Laurel, Poppy and Doderic chose a hillock and settled themselves down to eat their lunch. When they had finished, Doderic decided to have a little nap and told Laurel and Poppy not to wander far.

Laurel couldn't help herself and ran from hillock to hillock, enjoying the feeling of speeding up and down, up and down… Poppy chased after her, but soon slowed.

'Laurel, come back! You've gone so far…'

Laurel looked back, and her father was tiny. But just ahead, the hillocks grew larger and she wanted to see the difference.

'Just a little further, Poppy!' she called back. And with that she continued.

She leapt from her little hill, and stepped onto the larger ones. She walked foreard in awe. As she walked she shivered; the air felt different, colder… it was damp, here. She looked behind her, but she couldn't see Poppy. There was a white haze surrounding her… _mist_. Alarmed, Laurel turned back, but as she ran she stumbled and fell, rolling down the side of the hill.

Disorientated, she looked around, but everywhere looked the same and she wasn't sure which direction she'd come from and which way was back to Poppy. She shivered again as she sat on the grassy floor, her dress covered in grass stains; if only she had her coat…

She thought back to the map of the Shire she had seen so often. She had stumbled onto the Far Downs. Tales were told about the ghosts and monsters that appeared here, to ensnare unwary travellers.

Laurel let herself curse. The mist was growing thicker, and when she stood up her ankle sent sharp pains shooting up her leg - she'd twisted it as she fell.

Now thoroughly panicking, Laurel called out.

'Poppy? Father?'

But she heard nothing. Straining her ears, she fancied she could hear the moaning of a ghost… _just the wind_, she berated herself; the heavy breathing of a creature behind her…. She span around, to see nothing. _It was just yourself, you clothead_, she told herself angrily. She called out again, and began crawling forward, hoping desperately it would take her to her father and Poppy.

She could definitely hear something now.

A soft chink, chink, chink… it wasn't her breathing and it wasn't the wind, and it was growing louder.

Terrified and panicking, Laurel looked around her desperately, cursing the adventurous part of her that had made her go further, rather than trusting to good, common hobbit-sense. She tried to stand, and managed, although pain continued to shoot up her leg and make her gasp.

As she wobbled, the noise grew closer. Whatever was making it couldn't be far, but the mist shrouded everything in a white haze.

It sounded… she'd never thought she would ever hear this sound. Described in books, yes; but in real life it set her heart hammering and her breath coming in short gasps. It sounded like the clinking of armour. Of _weapons_.

Rooted to the spot, Laurel couldn't have run even if she wanted to. She stood stock still, as shadowy figures began to appear out of the mist.

* * *

**_A/N: I hope you enjoyed this :) On a side note, I don't actually know what the White/Far Downs would _actually_ look like, so I made it up. Please don't be cross if it's wrong... :) Please do let me know what you thought :D_**


	5. And So It Begins

_**A/N: I am SO sorry about the long wait, but I'm back now with another chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy! :)**_

* * *

**Chapter 4: And So It Begins**

Someone stepped towards Laurel, and behind them through the fog she could see a dark grey mass - there were more of them. Who knew how many more? The one near her spoke; guttural sounds escaping from his mouth, falling harshly on Laurel's ears in a tirade that set off warning bells in her head. She could see the figure held an axe...

Laurel's chest constricted. One word sounded in her head: _orc_.

She had read about them in the book; she knew what they did to people. She knew she had to get out of there, _now_.

She turned and fled, her limbs suddenly more agile than ever before as she moved with a speed she had never known she had. She didn't know where she was going, but _flight _was her only aim as she ran, ignoring the stabbing pain of her ankle.

She heard the leader shout again, his words unintelligible but meaning quite clear: _catch her_. Laurel sped up, but to her dismay one was in front of her, foul hands outstretched to grasp her. She turned, headed away from him, but more were coming at her from that direction as well. Her ankle an agony and breath catching in her lungs, she made one desperate lunge for freedom, only to feel fingers closing around her forearm. Desperately she tried to wriggle free, but it was no use. She tried biting, but the orc had thick leather gauntlets on and it only made her mouth bleed. The orc holding her was calling out to his leader, and her ankle gave way at last; she sagged in the orc's grip.

The orc sat her on the ground, and she clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the heavy blow of the axe. She heard more arrive, felt the ground beneath her tremble with the force of their heavy boots. One leant over her, and something tickled her head. She opened her eyes, and saw an orc with a bright orange beard peering down at her.

Laurel froze. She didn't remember reading about orcs with beards.

She looked up again, and the eyes that met her own were distinctly un-orc-like; in fact, they were nothing like an orc's, and nor was the face that she could now see, partly obscured as it was by the beard. She took in the helmet, the quality armour, the axe...

A dwarf.

Laurel didn't know whether to laugh or cry. To laugh, because they weren't orcs, or cry, because dwarves were every bit as dangerous as orcs if angry. And she didn't suppose that these ones were particularly happy.

The dwarf standing over her spoke again, and Laurel shook her head as the words washed over her, completely meaningless. The dwarf looked over at another one, and they spoke for a couple of minutes before the one near her turned back to her again.

'We are dwarves...' he said haltingly in Westron, 'from the Blue Mountains. What... Who are you?'

'I am Laurel Brownlock, a hobbit of the Shire. I am lost. My father...' Laurel broke off as tears filled her eyes. She wished her Papa was with her; she wished she'd listened to her sister. Now she wasn't sure what was going to happen to her; her only consoling thought was that if the dwarves wanted her dead, they probably would have killed her by now.

The dwarves around her conferred again in their harsh tongue, and the other dwarf turned to her this time. He was taller and his beard longer, and his armour more decorative. Laurel assumed he was their leader.

'We are journeying south. You may join us, or not. But we march on now.' The others were dispersing, heading towards a patch of orange light. Laurel assumed there were more dwarves, and they had lit a torch to burn the mist off.

'Please, couldn't you show me the way home?' she whispered. 'Just show me?'

The dwarf looked at her. 'I have not the resources or time to take you. But I know that your land lies that way.' He pointed.

'Thank you,' Laurel replied, and made to stand; but as soon as she put any weight on her foot her ankle gave again, sending straight back down to the floor, crying out at the pain. The dwarf helped her up, and Laurel stood, her leg quivering as she held onto the dwarf's arm. He looked at her doubtfully.

'I don't know that you can walk.'

'I can,' she snapped, perhaps unwisely; but all she wanted was to find her father and sister and go home. But again, she tried to take a step and the next moment she was sprawled on the grass once more. She cursed. The running must have made her ankle worse - at least before, she was able to walk. Now she could hardly stand.

'Laurel Brownlock, we are ready to move on. I do not feel comfortable leaving you alone, unable to walk - there are many wild things our here. Please, join us,' the leader spoke again, holding out his hand to help her up. Laurel knew he was right; there was no way she could find her father and sister, and she could hardly just wait for them to find her. She shuddered to think of what might happen to her _then_.

She looked up at the dwarf, sighed, and took his hand, and he pulled her up. When she was standing, he bowed.

'I am Frerin, son of Berin. At your service.'

Laurel didn't curtsey as was proper, for fear of falling again, but she did incline her upper body as she said, 'Laurel, daughter of Doderic, at yours.'

Frerin smiled. 'What funny names you hobbits have!' Before Laurel could respond, he was calling out in Dwarvish, and Laurel saw the group of dwarves clearly now that most of the mist had been burnt off. They were moving towards herself and Frerin.

'We will carry you in the wagon. Gror will look after you,' Frerin said.

Laurel nodded, a little apprehensively. When the wagon pulled up and Frerin called Gror out, she expected an old, grumpy dwarf; but the dwarf who came forward was entirely the opposite - he looked young, with only a short beard, and he smiled readily enough at Laurel.

Frerin said something to Gror, and the younger dwarf moved forward and quickly picked Laurel up, being careful of her ankle, and placed her gently in the wagon among the many boxes and chests piled up. He passed her a blanket and Laurel accepted it gladly; her clothes were quite soaked from the mist.

'We will get off these accursed downs and then make camp,' Frerin told her. 'If you have need of anything, ask Gror.'

'Thank you,' Laurel said, and Frerin nodded before walking to the front of the line and resuming his place.

He called out in Dwarvish, and the ranks of dwarves began to move, the wagon creaking under the weight of Laurel and the chests. And so Laurel Brownlock left the boundaries of the Shire, wrapped up in a blanket with a broken ankle.

_What an auspicious start,_ she thought to herself wryly.


End file.
